Lonely Road

Paving the long and Lonely Road,

Cutting through sleek razor mountain stone,

Burn-ed through tall forest green,

Torn through fault my weary feet bleed.

 

Prone to pain, I am not.

Lost therein, I am not.

 

Deaf to all empty guidance,

Bereft of all cause, let them rot.

Sightless to carnage of the soul,

Defeat feeds my fire in the cold.

 

Prone to doubt, I am not.

Lost therein, I am not.

 

Numb to lure of flesh and heart,

Lust and love, I long to want.

Taste lost for all, save for gold,

Triumph sates the famished and bold. 

 

Prone to passion, I am not.

Lost therein, I am not. (Hither, they call to me. Hither, they call to me.)

 

Paving the long and Lonely Road,

Cutting through sleek razor mountain stone,

Burn-ed through tall forest green,

Torn through fault my weary feet bleed.

 

Prone to pain, I am not.

Lost to doubt, I am not.

Prone to passion, I am not.

Lost myself, I have not.